


We Felt Surrounded

by emilyisobsessed



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Brief Mentions of Non-Violent Sharks, Getting Back Together, M/M, Misunderstandings, Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-07-24 00:03:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16169489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emilyisobsessed/pseuds/emilyisobsessed
Summary: Gabe and Tyson break up, go to the same tropical resort to nurse their wounds without realizing it, and then they can't stop running into each other.Based (loosely) onthis tweet.





	We Felt Surrounded

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [Springsteen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Springsteen/pseuds/Springsteen) in the [boysarehot](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/boysarehot) collection. 



> Big thanks to Emily ([springsteen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Springsteen/pseuds/Springsteen)) for the great prompt. And to the AvsFam fic challenge discord for the hooliganism and moral support. Thanks most of all to Allie ([oflights](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oflights/pseuds/oflights)) for listening to me whine endlessly about writing for our own challenge and especially for her brainstorming, betaing and helping me make this story better.
> 
> Shout out to hockey wags with perfectly curated instagram feeds for the vacation inspo and being the stepping stone for all the (unnecessary) research I did for this. If you’re as visual of a person as I am, here’s a [video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OipJE5QYp2o) of the resort I was picturing while writing and here's the [photos and details](https://www.oneandonlyresorts.com/one-and-only-reethi-rah-maldives/accommodation/grand-water-villas-with-pool) of Tyson’s villa.
> 
> Title is from [He’s The Moon](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lcsR6o_PSKs) by Bernice (thanks to my Spotify discover playlist for naming this fic for me while I was furiously trying to write the end of it before taking my own vacation).  
> 

Tyson just wants to drink, eat his weight in fresh shellfish and nap on a hammock for the next 10 days. No phone calls from his mom asking when he’s going to be home and if he’ll be bringing _anyone in particular_ with him, no trade rumors, no texts from Nate asking if he wants to “talk about it.” And no glaring lack of notifications from _anyone in particular_. He looks over the side of the boat that’s taking him to his oceanfront villa in the Maldives and strongly contemplates loosening his grip and watching his phone sink into the crystal blue water.

What he needs is a god damn sabbatical from thinking about Gabe Landeskog. And where better to do that than at an exclusive resort on an island halfway around the world?

Instead of letting his phone fall into a watery grave, Tyson unlocks it and takes a video of the rapidly approaching shores, tagging the resort and typing “alone at last” in a bold orange font and adding it to his insta story. He ignores the itch to check Gabe’s profile and congratulates himself on his strength. That rings a little false, because after their shouting match at the bar, he’d drunkenly unfollowed Gabe’s private account and he would rather die than send that follow request, thanks very much. All the same, he hopes Gabe checks and sees him living his best life in a tropical paradise, not thinking about him at all.

—

 

—

A cute valet leads Tyson to his villa after he checks in at the front desk, and Tyson’s so flustered by his floppy hair and warm brown eyes that he happily agrees to the complimentary unpacking service that he’s telling Tyson about as they walk through the perfectly manicured grounds of the resort.

They walk down the long pier that leads to Tyson’s oceanfront villa and Tyson takes in all the sights, tall palm trees and hammocks tied underneath them, ocean birds crying and the smell of salt in the air. The valet unlocks the door and swings it open, showing him inside.

Right as he hefts Tyson’s suitcase onto the luggage rack and grabs the zipper, Tyson flashes back to packing the night before — drinking prosecco straight from the bottle and throwing in as many sex toys he could find, muttering to himself about how he didn’t need Gabe for anything.

Tyson jumps on the suitcase like it’s a live grenade, trying to casually lean back on it, cringing at the stunned look on the valet’s face. “On second thought,” Tyson says in a voice that’s even higher than his own, “I can unpack myself, don’t want to trouble you.” Tyson digs into his pocket and shoves a wad of cash into the cute valet’s hand, thanking him while ushering him out the door with a stupid excuse about needing to “check the room.”

Tyson snatches up the plastic bag meant for dirty laundry in the closet and starts shoving toys of various shapes, girths, and vibrant colors into it, face burning. He ties the bag shut and squints at the instructions for the room safe, locking them away so the poor maid doesn’t find them and take him for a weird lonely sex maniac. Not everyone needs to know his truth.

Tyson faceplants on the bed, groaning when he realizes how comfortable it is. He allows himself 10 minutes of tummy time before he sighs and sits up, looking around the villa. It’s gorgeous, with high ceilings and a palette of rich, sophisticated earth tones. He pulls open the heavy wooden shutters in the living space, opening up the room to the ocean and deck outside; the ocean air pours in. The suite is built out onto the water, with a giant porch and pool just steps away. There’s even a queen size daybed at the end of the deck surrounded by gauzy white curtains, facing the endless stretch of ocean. It’s elegant and tasteful and private; Tyson needs to have sex on it.

 

The problem with behaving like such a huge weirdo that you scare your resort guide away is that you don’t get the full rundown on the layout of the place. Tyson takes one look at the thick guidebook sitting next to his bed and grabs his key instead, heading out the door. It can’t be too hard to find a bar in paradise.

After about 30 minutes of unsuccessful wandering, Tyson finally finds a bar and grill near the beach on the west side of the resort. He sits down at the bar (table for one? No thanks!) and tries to discreetly dab his sweaty face with a cocktail napkin. He orders a mojito and takes a sip, eyes landing on a fit, muscley blond sitting a few seats away from him. Tyson will acknowledge that he has a type. The guy’s drinking a beer by himself, so Tyson moves down a couple of bar stools and gives him a half-wave.

“I thought I’d be the only one drinking alone at a resort in the most romantic place in the world,” Tyson jokes, hoping he’s being more charming than desperate. “I’m Tyson.”

The guy smirks back at him and Tyson does an internal fist pump. “Johan,” he offers, still smiling a little and lifting his eyebrows slightly. He’s got a European accent of some kind and Tyson thinks he looks kind of familiar, but he can’t nail it down.

“So what are you drinking?,” Tyson asks, using his go-to flirting move of leaning his head against his hand and trying to look extra attentive.

Before he gets an answer, Tyson hears, “Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” right over his shoulder, and before he turns around Tyson considers smashing his glass and making a run for it.

He swivels slowly on his bar stool and sure enough there’s Gabe looking furious and handsome and annoying as ever. Tyson puts his face into his hands and groans.

“This cannot be happening,” he says directly into his palms. He hears Gabe take a deep breath.

“What are you — you know what, no. I’m not doing this,” Gabe snaps. “Johan, our table’s ready, let’s eat.”

He grabs his date — and former roommate, Tyson realizes, berating himself — by the shoulder and guides him to a small romantic table near the water. Tyson wonders if the other diners would mind if he just went ahead and hurled himself into the ocean right there.

Instead, he holds his head high and then drains his drink, pointedly not looking over to where Gabe is sitting. A few minutes later, another solo guy joins him at the bar, and Tyson throws himself into flirting with him, scooting his stool closer so that it scrapes across the floor. He orders two more mojitos, pushes the other one over to Russell, who Tyson learns is a physical therapist from Albany. He’s got wide shoulders and has on a tank top on that clings, and Tyson doesn’t have to try very hard to act interested in him.

Tyson’s touching Russell’s bare bicep, telling him he needs to give him some gym tips as if he’s not an NHL athlete with several professional trainers, when he hears Gabe laugh loudly, an attention-getting sound that even Tyson himself would be embarrassed making in public. Tyson can’t help turning his head, and he watches Gabe lean over and wipe something off of the corner of Johan’s mouth while he maintains direct eye contact with Tyson.

“ _Subtle_ ,” Tyson snaps, turning back see Russell with his eyebrows raised.

“Sorry, are you…” Russell starts, looking over to where Gabe is forcefully laughing again.

“No,” Tyson says firmly. “So, tell me more about your aunt’s restaurant.”

Tyson drinks two more mojitos, polishes off a cheese plate with Russell and an entree of grilled sea bass that tastes so fresh that he wonders if the chef waded out into the tide and caught it himself. Russell tells him he can’t handle anymore mojitos and orders them a bottle of wine to split over dessert, and Tyson makes sure to thank him profusely. And loudly.

Gabe and Johan are enjoying a leisurely dinner by the water and Tyson grits his teeth, tired of waiting them out. He pays the bill and wobbles off his stool, pulling Russell with him. Gabe glares as he watches them leave, and Tyson’s too drunk to resist making a rude gesture over his shoulder. Not entirely the tasteful exit he was looking for.

Outside, Tyson turns look at Russell and smiles. “Your place or mine?” Tyson asks, giggling and leaning in slightly, pushing himself up onto his tiptoes. Russell gently leans away, putting his hand on Tyson’s shoulder to steady him.

“I had a nice time tonight, Tyson,” he starts, and Tyson groans.

“Heard that one before,” he says.

“I’m trying to break the habit of being the revenge fuck,” Russell says knowingly, and Tyson curses his hand for flipping Gabe the bird.

“That’s fair,” Tyson says, “I just wish you weren’t so hot. It’s double disappointing now.”

Russell grins at him, “If it makes you feel better, I’m never going to be able see a mojito again without thinking about you.” He leans in and kisses Tyson gently on the cheek, winks at him as he takes the path back toward his room.

Tyson wanders drunkenly back to his villa, taking extra care to follow the posted signs this time. He walks out to the back deck and turns on the soft sting lights, sticking his feet in the pool and lying back on the firm wood floor. He stares up at the stars and lets out a deep breath. Within a few minutes he sees a falling star and smiles sleepily, looking over to his right even though he knows no one’s there.

He looks back up at the sky and thinks about cold Denver nights lying shoulder to shoulder in an extra wide sleeping bag on Gabe’s balcony. He closes his eyes to either fight off or invite in the memory; he’s not quite sure which.

He wakes up at least half an hour later with wrinkly toes and stumbles inside, passing out face down in bed without bothering to take off his shorts.

—

 

—

What they don’t tell you in the brochures about spa days, Tyson realizes 10 minutes into a 90 minute massage, is that you’re alone with your thoughts with no escape.

The first part of the morning went great. Who doesn’t love mimosas, a breakfast spread and having a variety of tingly creams smeared on your face? He posted a selfie with lilac goop all over his face to his Insta story, and then almost shot mimosa out of his nose when EJ replied, “Guess your trip is going ok since you’ve already gotten your 2nd fav type of facial.”

But lying face down on a massage table means no more booze, or fruit and pastries, or smart-ass comments from his friends to distract him. Tyson can’t stop thinking about the night before, his stomach turning reliving the humiliation of hitting on someone Gabe, his very recent ex, was already rebounding with and getting caught doing it by Gabe, his _very recent_ ex.

After his brain’s had its fun replaying that moment and his rejection by Russell, it moves on to their big fight at the bar the night after they lost game 6 to Nashville. It should’ve been bittersweet. Getting eliminated is never fun, but their team had gone to the fucking _playoffs_ after a 48 point season. But instead of having a proper celebration, the tension that had been sitting between him and Gabe for months finally boiled over.

About 4 rounds deep, Mikko asked the group what their plans for the summer were. Gabe glanced at Tyson smugly and told everyone that he’d just made surprise travel plans for the two of them in a couple weeks. Then Tyson truly lost his shit.

It was an escalation of their previous bickering, arguments about what to do and where to go after the season ended. As athletes set in their superstitious ways, Gabe and Tyson avoided the subject of the offseason as much as they could, not wanting to speculate too much. But when you’re going on a year of dating someone whose summer plans are typically very different from yours, it turns out you still need to talk about it ahead of time.

Gabe had been incessant about Tyson spending a good chunk of the summer in Sweden with him. It made Tyson nervous, thinking about getting plunged into a situation where he didn’t know anyone, couldn’t speak the language, and had to make Gabe’s entire family love him for a month. He hadn’t said no to him outright, but he hadn’t said yes, either.

So when Gabe said that he’d booked everything without even bothering to confirm with Tyson, he saw red. He was already a little dizzy from the number of drinks he’d downed, one after another, and the adrenaline in his veins made it impossible for him to keep from flushing, angry and red and yelling without being able to control it.

“So I guess we just do whatever you want and what I want isn’t worth asking about, huh Gabe?” he demanded, getting to his feet and swaying a little dangerously. Nate reached up to grab his elbow and Tyson yanked it away. “I’m fine! Doesn’t anyone think I can handle things myself?”

Gabe went white in anger, and he spoke through clenched teeth that left him basically hissing at Tyson. “Did you not _just_ tell me last night that you didn’t want to think about any of this anymore and wished this summer would just magically plan itself?” Tyson opened his mouth to answer but Gabe cut him off. “Haven’t you repeatedly told me you want _things_ — meaning me — to be more spontaneous?”

“What a martyr!” Tyson sneered back at him. 

“Y’know Gabe, maybe I would’ve met your family on the Sweden trip if you’d _actually invited me to meet them_ , instead of just getting pissy about it afterward and deciding I didn’t care about it,” Tyson spit out, old wounds from months ago resurfacing.

“That has nothing to do with this!” Gabe told him, standing up and towering over Tyson.

“Don’t yell down at me!” Tyson said. He reached over and pulled out the empty chair next to Josty, having decided to stand on it so he could be taller than Gabe during a fight for once. “Let’s see how _you_ like it,” Tyson slurred, too unsteady to be quite as intimidating as he was going for.

“You’re a fucking child,” Gabe said, and then he turned dramatically and walked to the door. “Nate, make sure he doesn’t break his damn neck,” he called over his shoulder.

Tyson huffed at not being able to get the last word in. He got down off the chair with a careful hand from a frightened Josty and tried to snatch his phone off the table, but Nate put his hand over it and shook his head.

 

Later that night, after 3 giant cups of water and some precautionary ibuprofen, Tyson was sprawled on Nate’s guest bed with his phone in his hand, watching the bubbles in his text thread with Gabe move. His anger and dread mounted every minute that ticked by without receiving a text, and finally Tyson furiously typed, “I can’t do this anymore, and at least I’m big enough to admit it,” before sending it and flinging his phone across the room.

The next morning, when Tyson rolled out of bed with his mouth tasting like 100-year-old Pepsi and finally found where his phone had bounced under the dresser, he found a text from Gabe, sent less than a minute after his. “Whatever. Enjoy your alone time, I’m glad you finally have what you want.”

“Does that hurt?” Tyson’s masseuse’s voice snaps him back to the present.

Tyson’s whole body is tensed up, ready to snap after reliving the breakup. He tries to slowly unclench all of his muscles and clears his throat, tells the poor masseuse that she’s doing great and he’s good.

He takes a couple of deep breaths and tries to think about the lazy floating he’s going to do in the warm ocean water this afternoon, and that strategy works until he hears the unmistakable sound of Gabe groaning.

The walls in this spa are way too thin, because now all Tyson can fucking hear are the loud, half bitten off groans that Gabe is infamously teased for by the entire team. He just can’t seem to shut himself up when his muscles are being worked over.

It was something Tyson was always delighted by, used to love to work him over himself after a long practice, coaxing as many moans and grunts out of Gabe as he could before flipping him over and rubbing himself off against Gabe before they’d both come, relaxed and happy. Now he hates him for it.

Tyson can’t keep from tensing up now, too busy using every fiber of his being to keep himself from getting hard on the fucking massage table. Luckily, the masseuse is finally wrapping it up, massaging his hands while Tyson tries to keep himself from curling them into fists.

Pulling together what little dignity he has left, Tyson dresses quickly, sliding on his shorts and putting on his shirt without bothering to turn it right side out. The whole time Gabe’s groans are ringing in his ears.

Tyson can’t help himself. As he passes Gabe’s door on the way out, he calls “Keep it down, Landeskog, the whole resort can hear you.” He hears a shocked silence, followed by a muffled laugh, deep and genuine.

Tyson speedwalks home and liberates his favorite toy from the safe, cursing Gabe the entire time.

—

Tyson goes on the shore fishing excursion more for the promised dinner made from the day’s catch afterwards than for the fishing itself.

There’s about 20 people down on the beach waiting when Tyson arrives. It’s almost one, but he’s still pretty hungover from the pitcher of sangria he’d ordered from room service last night. He’s got his darkest sunglasses on and he squints at the demonstration on how to bait their hooks and cast into the shallow water. Tyson is not optimistic about his catch today, but luckily the meal isn’t divided by the number of fish they each land. He made sure to check.

He goes to grab one of the provided rods and bumps hands with someone. Someone with neatly manicured nails and long fingers, which have also happened to have been inside Tyson before. The hand belongs to Gabe, of course, because this is Tyson’s life now.

“Eager as always,” Gabe says, and it comes out mean, not playful like Tyson is used to. Tyson gives him an exaggerated bow, muttering “your highness,” and he snatches the next available rod and walks as far down the beach from Gabe as he can get.

Tyson actually turns out to be pretty good at casting; he lands the hook right in a sweet spot and gets a nibble right away, but he’s terrible at hooking the fish. He spends about half an hour trying and failing to reel one in before he finally gets one, and he lets himself hoot with excitement and wave it around a little before he puts it in the bucket with the rest of the group’s catch.

Unfortunately this also brings him closer to Gabe, who’s high-fiving Johan as he pulls in a tuna that’s got to be more than two feet long. The smile on Gabe’s face is huge, and he’s yelling excitedly in Swedish. Tyson feels like he’s been hooked right in the gut.

He goes back to his spot but he can’t seem to cast for shit now and nothing’s biting. He kicks off his shoes and walks in the ankle-deep water instead, digging his toes into the sand. He watches the waves roll in and the birds circling lazily overhead and tries to absorb their calm.

“Son of a _bitch_ —” Tyson yells, looking down to see an impressive amount of blood in the water around his feet. He’s cut the bottom of his right foot open on a jagged piece of shell sticking up out of the sand. He hops awkwardly on one foot over to dry sand and tries to sit down without falling on his ass when he feels a strong grip on his elbow, steadying him. Tyson looks up to see Gabe there; he had to have sprinted the length of at least a football field in about 5 seconds.

Tyson tries to think of something to say, but all the pain center of his brain can come up with is “ow.” Gabe makes to grab for Tyson’s foot to inspect it, but when Tyson gives him a confused look he steps back hesitantly.

“Hey, can we get some first aid over here?” Gabe yells down the beach, and Tyson’s cheeks flush red with embarrassment at the scene he’s making. But satisfaction curls deep in his stomach. This is a public declaration that Gabe still cares; at least, cares enough that he doesn’t want Tyson to bleed out on a resort beach.

“I’m fine, jesus. It just looked bad because I was standing in water,” Tyson says. When Gabe crosses his arms and looks at him skeptically, Tyson adds, “You know I’m a hockey player, right?”

Gabe’s jaw twitches into something that’s almost a smile.

A lifeguard runs over with a first aid kit, and Gabe hovers behind her while she disinfects and bandages what really does turn out to be a small cut on the bottom of Tyson’s foot. It’s not even worthy of stitches.

After she helps Tyson back on his feet, Tyson could swear that Gabe is going to offer him his arm. Panicked about having to figure out what the appropriate response to that is, Tyson ducks his head and slips on his sandals, getting out a quick “thanks” in Gabe’s direction before he makes a beeline for the dining tables.

When the food is ready, Tyson loads up his plate at the buffet table and tears into it, chatting with the family from LA who asked if they could join him. He swallows a particularly large bite right as he notices Gabe watching him from his spot with Johan few tables away. Tyson has a sneaking suspicion that he’s trying to keep an eye on him.

Gabe quirks his eyebrow at the bite Tyson just took, and Tyson thinks about sticking out his tongue out or flipping him the bird again. Gabe’s gesture feels warm, though, not sharp like his comment earlier. Instead, Tyson gives him a quick nod and a smile, and Gabe returns it.

Part of Tyson wishes they’d just fought again; this feels a lot more confusing.

—

—

After two days of light sulking and lying low in his villa to avoid the constant specter over his vacation that is Gabe, Tyson is determined to actually enjoy himself. He’s going to keep his reservation to snorkel with sharks if it kills him. Which, hopefully not. All of the hours he’s spent watching the Discovery Channel and shark documentaries about how misunderstood they are need to be put to good use.

He shows up to the dock at 8 a.m., early enough for the fish to supposedly be out in full force, but not so early that he wants to die. In the small crowd of a dozen people, out of the hundreds staying at the resort, is Gabe fucking Landeskog, coffee cup in hand. Tyson takes a moment to contemplate the odds.

“No Johan?” Tyson asks brattily, striding up to Gabe’s side. There’s not enough people here for his new “ignore at all costs” strategy to work.

“He’s not a fan of sharks,” Gabe says, voice still rough from sleep. Tyson clenches his teeth and glares at the pillow creases on Gabe’s face. Gabe loves to roll out of bed at the last possible second, and Tyson had been the bad influence that encouraged him. Though it seems that he’s still capable of indulging himself without Tyson there.

“Sharks are _my_ thing,” Tyson says, stubborn and letting the whine creep into his voice. “You could’ve let me have this.”

Gabe smiles, his lips pressed together. “Sorry, non-refundable deposit.”

“Okay Gabriel,” Tyson says, huffing. “That’s about as much polite conversation as I’ve got in me for today; try not to get eaten.”

Their guide shepherds them onto the boat, a small yacht with an upper deck. Tyson makes himself comfortable in the seating area up top. He looks out over the water until he finds himself nodding off, the gentle motion of the water rocking him to sleep. Remembering that the tour guide said it’s about an hour to get to the reef, Tyson doesn’t fight it.

He dozes and dreams about being back in Victoria, taking the ferry home after so much time away playing junior and looking forward to just being a normal kid again for a couple months with his friends. Something brushes against his face and a sharp chemical smell brings Tyson back to reality; after a few disoriented seconds he realizes that someone is gently applying sunscreen to his nose.

When Tyson opens his eyes, Gabe jumps, flinching with his entire body; if that didn’t make him look guilty enough, he quickly hides his hand behind his back.

“Were you just putting sunscreen on me while I slept?” Tyson asks incredulously, and Gabe blushes and looks down at his feet.

“You were getting all red and I don’t want you dying from skin cancer,” he says, still barely looking Tyson in the eye.

Tyson notices how oily his shoulders and arms are and raises his eyebrows at Gabe. “Any other parts of me you greased up while I was grabbing a nap, or no?”

Gabe laughs, another genuine one, and god, Tyson missed that sound. He grabs his towel off the seat next to him and inclines his head toward it. Gabe only hesitates for a second, and Tyson feels something warm stir in his chest when he sits down and makes a humming noise to himself like he always does when he’s pleased. Tyson doesn’t even think Gabe knows he does it.

Tyson looks at Gabe out of the corner of his eye (discretely, thanks to his sunglasses) and thinks about how to start a conversation with all the awkwardness still sitting between them. After a minute of silence, he folds his arms and pretends to doze off again. He knows he’s going to have to start talking to Gabe again eventually, but he thought he’d have until September for that. He’s going to take his time, dammit.

Gabe gently taps him on the shoulder when the boat slows down, preparing to anchor just outside the reef. Tyson makes a show of jerking his head. Maybe he sold it a little too hard, because Gabe flattens his hand out on Tyson’s shoulder reassuringly. Tyson’s stomach hurts.

They climb down to the main deck and Tyson grabs a pair of fins along with a mask and snorkel out of the big bin at the back of the boat. “Uh oh Gabe, did you not bring your own equipment?” Tyson says, voice full of mock concern. “Don’t know if anything in here will fit you.”

“You ever gonna get some new material, Brutes?” Gabe sighs, as if he doesn’t make a dessert joke every chance he gets.

Tyson opens his mouth to respond with just that, but Gabe uses his Captain Shush and gestures toward their guide, who’s about to go over the rules. Tyson rolls his eyes. He can’t see them, but he knows Gabe’s eyes are crinkled up in satisfaction behind his sunglasses. Who ever thought sunglasses were such a smart idea anyway?

Hassan introduces himself and lets everyone know the drill. They aren’t in any danger, and there shouldn’t be any problems as long as they keep a respectful distance from the fish. No touching, no harassing, no dumb shit.

Tyson’s excitement is building, feeling elated as he plunges off the back of the boat into the water. The reef is beautiful, and as soon as he sticks his head underwater everything comes into sharp definition; Tyson can’t help but gasp into his snorkel. There’s a whole new world down here, one he knows from nature shows on his DVR and instagram accounts he follows, but seeing it in person is something else entirely.

The reef is filled with fish: schools of bigeye snappers with electric yellow tails swimming in a captivating sync, long skinny silver trumpetfish darting left and right among bright coral and anemones, blackfin reef sharks gliding gracefully nearby, shying away from the snorkelers when they get too close.

Tyson’s awed, can’t stop taking everything in and he feels like he needs to be looking in 12 places at once. He’s in the middle of giving a velvety grey stingray underneath him a wide berth when someone grabs his wrist. Tyson maybe shrieks a little bit, bubbles pouring out of his mouth. Gabe’s there, clutching onto him, eyes wide and pointing. Tyson turns to see what he’s looking at and he’s thunderstruck.

A few yards behind them is an ancient sea turtle, at least 3 feet long with a healthy coat of moss growing on her shell. She’s ethereal and beautiful and Tyson’s so happy to have someone to share this moment with. This someone in particular. Gabe’s favorite part of any of Tyson’s ocean documentaries are always the sea turtles; he loves cheering on the newly hatched babies army crawling their way across the dangerous stretch of sand to enter the ocean for the first time.

Tyson forgets he can breathe, feels like he doesn’t need to, everything is so perfect. He’s so filled with happiness that he even forgets to be mad at Gabe; lets himself pretend that they’re here vacationing together, in love and happier than they’ve ever been. He thinks about pulling Gabe’s snorkel out of his mouth and planting one on him, a stupid romantic gesture that he’s sure would leave them both sputtering and coughing up sea water on the surface, laughing as their masks bump and smiling so hard they have to readjust them because water has seeped in through the smile lines around their eyes.

He thinks about it, but he doesn’t. Instead he just lets Gabe hold tight to his wrist.

—

After the snorkeling trip, Tyson isn’t sure if there’s anything else that can make him happier on this vacation, but if anything’s going to put that assumption to the test it’s tonight’s wine tasting in the back room of the resort’s nicest restaurant.

Tyson pulls on the one pair of nice pants he brought with him, styles his hair in the mirror and pulls on his snuggest button down. Running into Gabe feels like an inevitability at this point, and he’s not surprised when he walks in to see him and Johan already seated at one end of the long table.

Vacation is looking good on Gabe, and Tyson sighs to himself as Gabe waves him over to sit across from him and doesn’t even attempt to resist. After the trip to the reef, Tyson is feeling a more comfortable back in his company, even if it stings to see him sitting there with someone else.

Johan, however, quickly excuses himself, giving some canned response about needing to be somewhere.

“Did you just get ditched?” Tyson asks, cocking his head at Gabe.

“Let me have a few glasses of wine and I’ll enlighten you,” Gabe says, and he has the audacity to wink. Tyson hates him. Gabe’s eyes are bright, his nose pink from the sun. What a hypocrite.

The rest of the guests finish trickling into the room, and the sommelier demonstrates the best techniques for wine tasting to the whole group. Tyson looks at the spittoon near them and shoves it down the table. He has a feeling he’s going to need every drop he’s poured tonight.

Several glasses in, Gabe’s cheeks have become as pleasantly pink as his nose. Tyson can feel his cheeks flaming too, alcohol flowing lazily through his veins. His whole face always ends up bright red though, like an overripe drunken tomato. He can’t help holding Gabe’s gaze when their eyes meet across the table, staring unabashedly until Gabe bites his lip and looks down.

Gabe’s eyes land on a brochure in the middle of their table, and he bursts out laughing after he reads it.

“What?” Tyson asks, trying to snatch it, but Gabe’s too fast and holds the pamphlet up out of reach, inspecting it thoroughly.

“We were robbed,” Gabe declares. “I can’t believe I put on pants during my vacation when this was an option.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Tyson asks, making a half-hearted grab for the pamphlet and knocking his feet into Gabe’s under the table when he loses his balance.

“ _‘When dining,_ _we require gentlemen to wear long trousers or a sarong,_ ’” Gabe recites. “I mean come on, I could totally pull that off. Think about how comfortable it would be!”

Tyson thinks about Gabe in a sarong and suddenly his tongue feels too big for his mouth.

“Anything for attention, huh Gabe?” he finally manages, after clearing his throat more than once. Gabe grins back at him, too smug for anyone’s good.

After another few rounds of wine, a cab sav and a pinot and a chardonnay, Tyson decides it’s time to prod Gabe.  “So, what’s Johan’s deal?”

“Oh, I told him to leave if you showed up,” Gabe answers easily.

“You what?” Tyson asks, choking on the sip of wine he’d just taken.

“He’s just a friend,” Gabe says, dismissing Tyson’s raised eyebrows with a wave of his hand. “I had an extra ticket and he was the only one who took me up on it. I wanted my sister to come but she was already committed to some retreat in Greece.”

“What?” Tyson asks, trying to make sense of that. “So this wasn’t, like, some rebound trip for you like mine was supposed to be?”

“No,” Gabe says, shaking his head. He moves his hand across the table closer to Tyson’s, but he doesn’t touch him. They sit in silence for a minute, letting the other patrons talk around them.

“You realize I planned this whole trip for you, right?” Gabe asks, looking at Tyson very seriously, in the way only someone who’s drank nearly a bottle of wine can.

“Um, no,” Tyson answers. “I can safely say that that possibility never entered my mind.”

Gabe laughs and shakes his head. “Why else do you think we kept running into each other everywhere?” he asks, and Tyson takes a second to ponder that.

“I thought the universe hated me,” he answers, after a brief pause. “Did you seriously plan this whole thing for me?”

“I know you,” Gabe answers simply. “I know what you like, and what you hate, and the order you want to do the things you like in. It was easy and I thought it would make you happy, so I did it.”

He looks at Tyson, waits a beat while he holds his gaze. “I should’ve asked you first. I know that now, and I think I knew it at the time too, but I was too caught up in doing what I thought was bold and romantic. I was wrong and I’m sorry.” Tyson’s heart pounds in his chest.

“I’m sorry too,” he blurts out. “I was too worried about fucking things up and losing you to start a real conversation, so I just blew it up instead. I admit that it wasn’t my smartest move.

“I want to travel with you, and really meet your family and go to your stupid ABBA museum. I was just scared because I haven’t done this before and you mean more to me than anyone else ever has.” Once Tyson has started talking, it’s hard to stop. He thinks about hiring a professional listener, then realizes that’s a therapist.

“Do you think I should hire a therapist?” Tyson asks Gabe.

“I love you,” Gabe says. “And therapy seems like a pretty solid idea. For both of us.”

“I love you, too,” Tyson replies. They beam at each other across the table.

“Hey,” Tyson starts. “Do you maybe wanna get out of here?”

Gabe finally puts his hand over Tyson’s on the table. “Of course I do.”

 

They trip over each other’s feet walking back, both leaning in way too close to one another to walk normally. They also stop every few meters to make out a little, though when Tyson almost takes a dive off the pier leading to his villa Gabe scoops him up and carries him the rest of the way, Tyson squirming in his arms the whole time.

Tyson takes out his key and presses it to the door, Gabe eagerly shoving it open when it beeps and unceremoniously dropping Tyson on the bed. Tyson bounces and yells “so much for romance!” while Gabe laughs his ass off.

Tyson leans up and grabs Gabe by his collar, pulling him down on top of him. Gabe groans and pushes himself forward, grinding against Tyson’s leg and sighing into his mouth. Tyson rocks against him and kisses him furiously, grabbing Gabe’s head in his hands and scratching against his scalp. They strip out of their fancy restaurant clothes quickly, Tyson practically vibrating with the need to feel Gabe’s bare skin pressed up against his again.

But as soon as Gabe lands back on top of him, Tyson changes his mind, trying to squeeze out from under him. “Fuck, sorry, are we going too fast?” Gabe pants, pushing himself back onto all fours.

“Nope!” Tyson answers happily, before wriggling out from under Gabe’s arms and pulling him by the wrist. “C’mon, we gotta christen this.”

Tyson pulls Gabe outside, shows him their own private ocean. Gabe sucks in a breath at the view and Tyson smiles. “Wait ‘til you see it during the day.” He lowers the outdoor lights to their dimmest, just enough so that they can see where they’re walking, and leads Gabe over to the daybed and pushes him down on it. Tyson climbs up onto the bed and kneels between Gabe’s spread legs, leaning down to kiss him. When Gabe kisses back he tastes like wine, and the mint he grabbed on their way out of the restaurant, and most importantly, Gabe.

After a few minutes, Tyson gets impatient and pulls back, planting a kiss on the side of Gabe’s jaw, brushing his lips against his beard. He works his way to his neck, and then down his shoulders, tanned from all his time outside this week. He moves down Gabe’s right arm, kissing each of his fingers, before shifting over to his hip bones. He kisses the right, then moves to the left and places a biting kiss there, leaving faint teeth marks before running his tongue down to Gabe’s dick, flushed and hard and ready for him.

When Tyson gets his mouth on him, he lets himself let out a satisfied groan. Gabe moves his hand to the back of Tyson’s head, guiding him up and down while Tyson works him over. He’s quiet for a few beats until he can’t contain himself, “Fuck, yes, Tys. You’re so fucking good. Jesus Christ I missed you and that mouth.”

Tyson sets a comfortable pace, taking Gabe deeper for longer with every stroke until he’s panting for it. He feels Gabe’s hand tighten in his hair and he closes his eyes, moving faster and sloppier until he tastes Gabe hot in his mouth, pulling off in time to catch some on his cheek. Gabe smiles up at him and, breathing hard, reaches up and rubs the smear of come in a little with his thumb.

“Gross!” Tyson says, but he’s grinning hard and doesn’t pull away. Gabe pushes himself into a seated position and fits both hands behind Tyson’s head, pulling him to him so he can kiss him thoroughly. After about a minute of that, Tyson gets antsy, moving away from Gabe to gesture at his dick, still hard and rudely neglected until now.

“Get to work,” he orders, and Gabe happily moves onto his stomach, wrapping his hand around him. He guides Tyson down onto his back and fits his mouth around Tyson’s dick, and it feels so good that Tyson clenches his eyes shut.

Gabe’s not satisfied though, moves down to lick at Tyson’s hole, gently opening him up until he can fit two fingers in alongside his tongue, patiently jerking Tyson off to the rhythm of his thrusts until Tyson is desperate, tears leaking out of his closed eyes. The curtains hanging around the bed rustle in the warm ocean breeze. Tyson feels like a fucking king.

He comes with Gabe’s name on his lips. Gabe doesn’t stop the pressure on his prostate until Tyson cries out, and then he slowly removes his fingers and gives his hole a few last gentle licks.

When he can stand, Tyson drags himself off the bed and paws through the fridge inside for bottled water. He gulps some down and carries the rest out to Gabe before turning on the hot tub jets. He pulls Gabe with him into the warm water and lies his head against his chest. Gabe wraps his arms around him and sighs contentedly.

Tyson tilts his head back and looks up at the sky, and Gabe kisses him on the head before lifting his gaze to follow Tyson’s. They don’t see any falling stars, but Tyson doesn’t mind.

—

In the (late) morning, Tyson walks Gabe back to his own villa to grab a change of clothes and his toothbrush. Tyson eats two of the fresh pastries left by room service and a small serving of fruit while Gabe packs. He tracks crumbs around the place while he examines how Gabe and Johan’s space is different from his own, outside of the fact that it’s on the beach instead of built out over the water.

Gabe finds him carefully examining the outdoor shower with a glint in his eye, and that’s a whole detour of its own. Poor Johan comes back from a swim halfway through and now has an image that will stick with him for the rest of his life, according to Gabe.

Tyson is unconvinced. “He used to live with you, he’ll be fine. I know firsthand what you’re like at home.”

If Johan is scarred he doesn’t acknowledge it, because he’s perfectly normal when the three of them go to the beach for the rest of the afternoon. Gabe and Johan play a fiercely competitive game of beach volleyball while Tyson looks on, sipping a fruity cocktail at the nearby bar.

Sure, Johan teases Gabe pretty much the whole game, but that’s the way things should be. After Gabe comes over and gives Tyson a disgustingly sweaty hug, Tyson chases him into the water, tackling him into the surf. They splash around for a while and then Tyson suns himself on a reclined lounge chair and lets Gabe smear as much sunscreen on him as he wants.

They head back to Tyson’s villa to nap, too tired from being out in the sun all day to do anything more than lazily make out for a few minutes while getting some half-hearted gropes in before they both pass out.

Gabe wakes him up gently, promising Tyson dinner to get him out of bed. He leads Tyson down a path he hasn’t walked at the resort yet and it ends in a private beach. There’s a picnic set up in the sand, and dozens of candles are lit, glowing softly all around them.

“This is the most romantic shit I’ve ever seen,” Tyson observes, and Gabe beams at him.

“That’s exactly what I wanted to hear,” he says, and he pulls Tyson into his lap on the picnic blanket, hooking his chin over his shoulder as they watch the sun sink below the sea, painting the horizon delicate shades of yellow, orange and pink.

Gabe turns to the picnic basket and pulls out a spread of fresh sushi, a variety of appetizers and a bottle of champagne.

“This is the way to pull off a surprise, for future reference,” Tyson says, unable to resist being a brat. But his voice is warm when he says it, and he can tell Gabe is pleased with himself. Tyson is as happy as he can remember being. It’s almost like it was designed to be perf-

“Gabriel Landeskog, were you going to _propose_ to me on this vacation?” Tyson asks, everything clicking into place. He feels pretty dumb for not realizing it as soon as they walked up. Candles and sunsets on the beach, for god’s sake. He digs through the picnic basket and yep, there they are — chocolate covered strawberries.

Gabe is as embarrassed as Tyson has ever seen him. Including earlier after the shower incident. “Maybe,” he says so quietly he might as well be whispering. His eyes are on his own lap. “I mean, before. I knew we had stuff we needed to work out, but I also just...really wanted to be married to you anyway. So I thought, why not ask?”

Tyson opens his mouth, but Gabe soldiers on. “Obviously I wasn’t still planning on going through with it; I had this all arranged already and it wasn’t refundable, and I was just going to send Johan here by himself as a joke. But then we got back together, and I thought it could be a good way to celebrate that. A getting-back-together dinner,” Gabe explains, finally looking up at Tyson to see if he’s going to bolt, or yell at him again.

Tyson doesn’t yell. He doesn’t run away, and not even a little part of him wants to. Instead, he asks, “What if I wanted to marry you right here, at this resort? Tomorrow, or before we leave at least.”

Gabe smiles so wide his cheeks must hurt when he realizes Tyson isn’t fucking with him.

“I’d say bring it on, but only if I can wear a sarong,” Gabe says, after a few seconds of consideration.

“I’m serious,” Tyson says, looking Gabe right in the eye. “I love you, and I’m sick of being scared of our future and what people think about me.”

“So am I,” Gabe says, and he leans into kiss him, eyes a little teary, but Tyson stops him with a hand on his chest.

“Since we’re getting married in paradise, what do you think about a double honeymoon in Stockholm and Victoria?”

Gabe crushes him in a hug and presses his lips against his neck. “That sounds perfect,” he says, lips against Tyson’s ear. Tyson grins against his shoulder.

The next morning they visit the resort gift shop and pick out a tasteful sarong, in a blue that matches Gabe’s eyes with a soft yellow pattern that reminds Tyson of the sun reflecting off the water.

—

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you're interested in participating in future Avs fic challenges please reach out, we're thrilled to have new writers! If you don't want to talk to me directly, we'll be posting info on new challenges on our [Tumblr](http://avsfamfic.tumblr.com), where you can also find out how to join our discord server to chat with other fannish Avs fans.
> 
> I don't have much else to plug this time, so I'll just mention the [Gabe/Tyson primer](http://emilyisobsessed.tumblr.com/post/154391856594/gabe-landeskog-and-tyson-barrie-a-primer) on my Tumblr again. I update it periodically with New Content and I can imagine that with the new season starting we're about to get an avalanche of stuff.
> 
> I’m also on Twitter ([@eknielsen](http://twitter.com/eknielsen)) and yell about the Avs there frequently.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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